


Strings Attached

by Barbeauxbot



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: F/M, this is why one of his epitaphs in mythology is 'the burden of sigyn's arms', too many lokis on the dancefloor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1279870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbeauxbot/pseuds/Barbeauxbot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five vignettes about the relationship of Loki and Sigyn. And gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Your Silence Covers Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/gifts).



It is a strange thing for Loki to be married before either of his brothers. The upset of the natural order pleases him, as well as the social clout that comes along with being recognized as one mature enough to enter into committed partnership with another, to establish his own family outside of his father’s house. Despite the unorthodox method he had employed in winning his bride, the change in how others treat him is both notable and gratifying.

Less gratifying is the dawning realization that in order to establish his own household, his wife has to be there. All the time. Sitting across the table from him at meals, sleeping next to him in bed, moving about the house when he is attempting to think, having no cause to leave the house when he wishes to have clandestine meetings with co-conspirators. Persisting in _existence_ even when he has no want or need of her. 

It isn’t until he returns from one of his many journeys bearing a gift for her that he realizes how thoroughly she has managed to persist even in his thoughts. 

If pressed, he could not have explained why he thought it appropriate for Sigyn. It is a mask, grotesque both in it’s violent fuchsia hue and jagged shape. It does not suit her in the slightest. But it had caught his eye and he had taken it, just as she had caught his eye and he had taken her. And so he presents it to her with little fanfare upon his return and expects all of this to be self-explanatory.

Sigyn is silent as she carefully examines the mask, turning it this way and that, and almost lifting it to her face as if to model it but then putting it back in her lap. “It is most remarkable, husband.”

“It is,” he agrees, feeling unaccountably awkward. “Display it somewhere conspicuous.”

She opens her mouth, and then closes it. And then nodded. “I will do my best to please you.”

“Yes, well. We will both have to wait and see if you succeed.” He grins athis joke. And after a moment of hesitation, she does as well.

 


	2. Will You Ever Get Free

As soon as Balder agrees to relocate the Asgardians, Loki immediately informs the staff which rooms are to be Sigyn’s. It is one of the grander accommodations, as befits her and her station. It is also one of the most remote, at the top of a tower on a wing that Doom rarely frequents. He knows Sigyn will not consent to see him so long as he is using Sif’s body. Because she told him so, back in Oklahoma. So it is not until he has reclaimed his own form that he seeks her out. 

He does not bother to knock. “Sigyn, where are you. I have need of you.”

She emerges from one of the side chambers, wrapped in thick furs to ward off the chill. She is, as always, an immensely appealing sight. “Husband. I did not know you were coming to see me.” She glances behind him and at the window before tiptoeing to kiss his cheek. “I would have dressed accordingly.”

He slides his finger along the edge of the fur, tugging it just far enough to reveal her bare shoulder underneath. “It seems that you have, in spite of yourself.”

She blushes and he reminds himself that he had a reason why he came to her. And he needs to keep that reason in mind. “I have noticed that the bed I was provided is… very big.”

 _Keep the reasons in mind_. “Yes, well. You are a princess. Such things are expected.” He hands her a few cigars. “Do you know what these are?”

She examines them a moment, her brow furrowing in confusion and her bottom lip pouting out just slightly. “Cigars?” 

“Exactly.” He taps her bottom lip with his fingertip and then steps away from her and toward the window before she distracts him even further. “I want you to go to Cuba.”

“Cuba?” Her hands tighten around the cigars. “But we just moved here.”

“Exactly!” He smiled broadly at her. “You haven’t settled in yet, it will be easier to go.”

“But why Cuba? What is there? What am I to do?” She glances at the door, which he has left slightly ajar, but does not move to close it.

He begins to pace, and forces himself to keep his tone light. “There’s rum and cigars and music and a dearth of capitalism and some beaches that are nice enough. It will be a pleasant sojourn for you.” 

Her mouth hardens and she sets the cigars down, collecting her thoughts. He braces himself. “Since _Ragnarok_ I have barely seen you.”

“Which was your choice,” he interrupts. “You said my womanly form offended you.”

“Because it was _not you_.” She hisses, her temper flaring. “You were using somebody else’s body, I still do not even know _whose_ body or _why_. I do not care what form you take so long as it is _your_ body.” She advanced on him. “And you bring us here, to this place of poverty and despair where the mortal sovereign asserts his own laws over that of Asgard’s and you put me in the tower and do not come to me for weeks until now? And then you tell me to go to _Cuba_?”

“Yes,” he says, firmly, meeting her temper with his own. “And you will. And I will send for you when I want you to return.”

She draws herself to her full height, her eyes flashing. “I will not. I am your wife, I am a princess of the realm, I am not some concubine you can send away and call back at whim. I will not be treated like—”

He strikes the air next to her face, and makes the sound of flesh being slapped. She gasps and clutches her face, eyes widening in shock, her surprise enough to suggest actual pain. “You will.” He says, keeping his voice low and calm. 

She fights tears, and he sees her eyes follow something by the door. He turns just in time to see a retreating shadow. “We are never alone here,” she whispers, so soft he barely hears her.

“You will go to Cuba,” he repeats, touching her chin and tipping her face up so he can meet her eyes. “I will send for you when I want you to return.” There are several lies being told, of course. He doesn't want her to go in the first place. He does not expect to live long enough to recall her. Those are the biggest lies.

She loses the fight, and the tears begin to fall. “I will go.” She says. She knows he is lying. He can tell.

The plan was to dispatch her and then return to Doom. But sometimes Loki changes his plans. And so he stays, one last time.


	3. Will You Hit the Ground

There are court politics to navigate and the Allfather expects Sigyn to attend all of the public functions as she is now the only princess of the realm. He considers her blameless in Loki’s actions, and reminds her often that disappearing completely would be taken as a sign of guilt.

Odin always did have a soft spot for her. Sigyn swallows the hate that burns in her mouth each time he sends for her.

The rest of Asgard has noted her conspicuous absence during the siege, and she is made well aware of those suspicions. So she wears a veil of mourning when forced to be in public and spends as much time as she can in solitude. 

It is Thor who brings her his remains. A phial of ashes. She closes her fingers around it, so small it fits neatly in the palm of her hand. Her throat is so full it aches, and her belly is empty. She presses the phial to her lips.

He is quiet for a time, and she composes herself. “There is something else.”

“When is there not.” The wave of grief has passed and she retreats back into numbness. 

 Thor takes her hand and leads her to a store room. “I found something. I am unsure what to do with it, but I thought I should offer it to you, first.” He opens the door and there, sitting on the floor, amongst the other random accoutrements that somehow survived the destruction, is a golden horned helmet.

Sigyn lets out a low cry and falls to her knees, clutching it to her. “I don’t understand. Was he not… He was wearing this when he died, was he not?”

“That was destroyed.” Thor shakes his head. “He had more than one.”

She grips it tighter, the tears threatening again. “Have you decided what to do with it?”

He crouches next to her and touches her shoulder. “I thought you might like to have it, sister.”

It is not what she would like. She does not want his helmet. She wants her husband. She wants to trace back over the past few years when she knew something was amiss but kept her tongue and her place and so lost him to the flames. She wants to awaken from the dull gray progression of endless days with no hope of reunion or respite to discover that he has returned to her, just as he was. “I would like it, yes.” She whispers. And then laughs, fighting off tears. “You know, some of the mortals use the two horns to symbolize cuckoldry.” Her hands slide along the curve of the horns. “When I found that out I wondered if he was trying to tell me something.”

Thor does not laugh, but frowns slightly in his confusion and rubs her back gently. “He loved you, of that there is no dispute.”

“Aye, and you as well!” She half laughs, half sobs. She knows Thor is right. Just as she knows Loki would have laughed with her. “How the Fates mock us.” 

But again, Thor does not laugh. And so she stops trying. 

 

 


	4. So Much Inside You

Sigyn is still in mourning, though gradually emerging from her self-imposed seclusion, when Thor returns from Paris with a child that is not his.

There are rumors, of course. And the more spiteful gossips make sure that she is aware of all of them. And so she comes to know every theory about who the child is and where he came from in ruthlessly explicit detail.

Sigyn spends as much time as she can in her own chambers. There is no doubt in her mind that the child is Loki reborn. Just as there is no doubt in her mind that he had been planning this turn of events for quite some time. Just as there is no doubt in her mind that he had barely spoken to her since Ragnarok and she was, in truth, entirely innocent of everything he had planned.

The sight of her own reflection in the glass disgusts her, and she takes to wearing the veil even in private.

Necessity forces her to leave her chambers periodically and it is on one such an unavoidable task that she encounters the child. He is not supposed to be so deep in the east wing, but such things never did concern him much.

She is so lost in thought that she nearly misses him entirely, but a magpie shrieks and flies toward her face. She flinches and shields her eyes with her arm as the magpie veers at the last moment and settles on the sill. 

“Sorry! I’m so sorry!” The boy scampers after the bird and begins to scold it. The magpie blinks at him, thoroughly unrepentant. 

Sigyn frowns behind the veil. “Do not apologize for the bird. Corvids are wretched creatures.”

The magpie croaks and chatters in protest. The boy laughs and it is a knife twisting in her gut. She turns to leave. The boy’s laughter cuts off abruptly and the magpie caws in triumph. She can feel both of them staring at her as she goes, but she refuses to let herself look back.

“Wait!” The boy shouts and runs after her. “Wait!” He tugs on her sleeve.

She turns around, even more irritated. “Yes, my prince?”

“He wants you to have this.” The boy holds out his hand, and Sigyn does the same. He puts a necklace of troll teeth in her palm.

She breathes in deeply, and lets it out slowly. Refusing to let her temper flare. “What a grand gift from a bird.” She tries to keep her tone bland, but cannot avoid the hint of sarcasm.

He frowns and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know why.”

Sigyn shakes her head and sighs. “I’m sure it makes sense to the bird.” She pats his shoulder and then laughs a little to herself. “My betrothed was killed by trolls. Long before the fall.”

His eyes widen and he looks up, twisting his fingers. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have. That’s awful! Did… Did I have—“

She waves her hand, dismissing his question before he has a chance to force an answer from her. “Don’t be. He was an arse. I was better off without him.”

“Oh.” He relaxes considerably and grins up at her. 

She kisses the top of his head as the bird squawks in protest. “Thank you.” She repeats. And then leaves, the cooing of the bird and her echoing footsteps the only sounds.


	5. Think it Over

Loki is trying to irritate her. And Sigyn knows. Which only makes her more irritated. But there’s something about the way her perfectly-placid facade slips if he pushes _just_ hard enough that he finds endlessly appealing. Which is another thing that Sigyn knows. And so the dance continues, as it always does.

“You moved apartments. _Again_.” Sigyn grits her teeth as she continues filling out the requisite paperwork.

“Magically,” Loki drawled, sprawling in the visitor’s chair that might as well be deemed “Loki’s chair”, as he was the only one who ever visited her in her office. “Plus, I believe as a prince of the realm I do enjoy that delightful liminal space in mortal law known as ‘diplomatic immunity’.” He smirks.

Sigyn set her work down and took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “Aye, you do, my prince.” She bites the words. “However, abusing such privileges has a chilling effect on those willing to work with you in the first place. Diplomatic immunity does not grant you _eminent domain_. And every time you break one of your leases and move your dwelling, I have to spend a week cleaning up the mess.”

“Isn’t that your job?” He grins lazily. “You’d get bored if I didn’t give you something to do.”

“No!” She shouts, flinging her pen at his head. He dodges easily. “My job is to acclimate our people to the customs of the midgardians, and to do what I can to ease tensions when one of our own breaks their laws. Which, yes, usually means cleaning up after you. Do you know why?” She doesn’t bother to wait for an answer. “Because everybody else has managed to at least try to observe the local customs and thus is able to clean up their own messes. Do you know what the last problem I had to fix for Thor was, hm?” She again, does not wait for an answer. “He was tipping the baristas at his favorite coffee shop with gold and they didn’t know the exchange rates. Which I was able to resolve to everybody’s satisfaction within one afternoon. Which is how most of these problems go. But no, not yours. Not Prince Loki. He does what he wants, and lets others deal with the consequences!” She slams her hand on the desk.

Loki hesitates, taken aback. He has pushed too far.”I shall leave you to it, then.” He rises to go.

“Wait.” She sighs, her anger spent as quickly as it flared. “Loki. Why do you do this to me. To yourself?”

“Do what, Lady Sigyn?” He doesn’t turn around. 

“This…” she waves her hand and shakes her head. “Farce of a relationship. You do not wish to marry me any more than I wish to marry you. So why not just live our separate lives.”

He rests his hand on the doorframe. “Is my regard for you only worth something to you if we are married?” He glances back at her. “I never took you for a mercenary.”

She is quiet for a time. And then lifts her hands to him. He returns to her and kneels, laying his head on her knee. She strokes her fingers through his hair. “I am not so mercenary, no. But I know you. And I do not understand what you get out of this.”

He slides his arms around her waist. “Perhaps I’ll just have to keep gracing you with my presence until you figure it out.”

She laughs, softly, in spite of herself. He grins. “You ought to start growing out your hair. It can be a race: will I figure it out before it’s long enough to braid.”

She is lying, of course. She knows why. And he knows she is aware of this. But the lie is not being told to him, but to herself. And so he decides to stop pushing the issue, and her, and shares the moment of peace with her.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday :D


End file.
